


(what we lost) leaves no shadow

by kalypsobean



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 20:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13532187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: It hits him when he sees Noct. Time hadn't been kind, at least not to him; for each thing that makes Noct look only a bit older, Prompto has a scar, a story, something that never quite healed over.The one that rears when he sees Noct is older again, and he hides it just as well as he always has.





	(what we lost) leaves no shadow

It hits him when he sees Noct. Time hadn't been kind, at least not to him; for each thing that makes Noct look only a bit older, Prompto has a scar, a story, something that never quite healed over.

The one that rears when he sees Noct is older again, and he hides it just as well as he always has.

 

It's how he felt at Galdin Quay, looking out at the beach and wishing the glass wasn't there, as if that would mean he would feel something, even the wind or the taste of salt on the air. He didn't say anything then; he couldn't, not even to pretend to be sad or understanding. He'd been told not to tell, and that didn't stop just because the King was dead. 

 

Noct looks like him now, somehow, though Prompto can still see his friend in there if he reminds himself to look. This new Noct, though, isn't the one he used to play with or tell jokes to, the one he worked so hard to know; this one walks like him and has that same aura, the same way of looking out and seeing past everything, the same sense of everything being pulled in and resting heavily across his shoulders. _I did it for you,_ he used to think, when Noct was asleep or laughing and seemed free of everything. _I did it for you,_ he thinks now, but his vision blurs and Noct looks straight at him, through him and beyond him in that same way as if he knows everything, and it feels like it wasn't enough.

 

He wipes his hand across his eyes and pretends he was crying just because he'd missed his best friend. It's true enough that Gladio just makes fun of him, even shoves him on the shoulder, and he rolls with it out of habit, no longer necessity. The moment doesn't last, of course, and he can still feel a hand on his shoulder, warm and heavy and ghostly. 

 

He hasn't slept much in years; something about the darkness making it hard for people's bodies to recognise night and day, Ignis had said once, but Prompto thinks it's more than that. He's had to be ready on a moment's notice all this time, a part of responsibility he hadn't expected, but couldn't fall to anyone else. People looked up to him, and sometimes it made him so sick to his stomach that he couldn't breathe, let alone sleep, having that same kind of power, knowing how easy it would be to be just like him. That's what keeps him awake now, the memories just close enough that he can taste it; he won't close his eyes in case he's there again, in the half-dark, on his knees, with the tears...

 

There's a hand on his shoulder again, and he shrugs it away before he remembers that means being hit. He waits for it, barely breathing, but there's nothing. At least, not at first; there's a thump and some rustling, and when he dares look up, he sees it was Noct sitting down, not quite close enough to touch.

"Hey, Noct," he says, and wipes his face with the back of his hand. It feels very important that Noct doesn't see him crying, at least not over this.

"Hey," Noct says, and his voice, deeper than it was and somehow more serious, sets Prompto off again. There's more thumping and then Prompto feels Noct next to him, their shoulders and knees touching. It's comforting, kind of, but at the same time it isn't, and he feels bad both because he wants to move away and because he doesn't.

It hits him, then, that this is all going to end, one way or another. If they fail (and, since he's involved, Prompto kind of thinks that's likely) then he won't have to deal with it anymore, but if they don't...

 

He found it hard to say things before, when Noct was around all the time, but now it's like he doesn't know who he's talking to, or how to put the words in order, and it's like it was in school all over again, except that was before.

"You look like your dad," he blurts out when Noct is saying something about how grateful he is. "You look like him and I can't... I can't hear this from you."

Noct goes quiet, and he sort of leans in; Prompto can feel that, a bit more pressure on his arm, a bit more everything.

"Did Dad do something to you?" he says, and even though Prompto can hear the pauses in between words, like they were hard to get out, it feels like, somehow Noct already knows.

And he cries, either again or more, because he can't really tell whether he stopped. He nods, and he doesn't have the energy to shrug off the hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Noct says, and the silence stretches out until Ignis comes to find them, to make sure they sleep.

 

He doesn't get any more time alone with Noct, but it's easier, somehow, because he doesn't have to worry about Noct finding out; he's still waiting for the special treatment and sympathetic looks, but he hasn't been outright rejected. He can't even say Noct is avoiding him, and, really, it's more than he would have ever dared hope for.

That is, until they get to the Crown City, and everything looks familiar-but-not, and there's one of those snake things, and he and Noct end up stuck in a hollowed out store because he can't breathe and he's back there, in that day, when the sky wasn't dark and the Kingsglaive came for him. It doesn't even register, at first, that the hand screwing up his hair isn't _his_. 

 

"Want to talk about it?" Noct says, and it's the last thing Prompto ever expected him to say. Sure, Noct complained enough about his dad to be able to get that he wasn't the most perfect of people, but Noct also idolised his dad. Prompto never wanted to get in the way of that, let alone expected that Noct would want to hear about his dad... doing that. 

Noct sighed and shuffled close, just like he had at Hammerhead, and this time Prompto didn't flinch. A part of him vaguely noticed that, underneath the rest of his mind trying to make him breathe and move and his body just not cooperating.

"Look, Prompto, I'm not going to be around much longer. If I can fix this for you, I want to." Prompto still couldn't get over how serious Noct sounded now; before, it might have been a joke, if Noct said something at all, if he'd known. "You want me to say sorry a thousand times? I will. You don't want to go in the Citadel? You don't have to. You want to leave right now? We will."

 _Of course I want to leave,_ Prompto wants to say, but he thinks Noct actually would actually do it, and he can't let that happen. He would also have to go back outside.

He leans into Noct instead, because Noct is warm and it's kind of like forgetting, feeling that against him; he hasn't been not-cold in such a long time.

"I did it for you," he says, but it's only when Noct breathes in, sharp and harsh, like he heard the words and forgot to exhale, that he knows he finally said it out loud. 

The silence is worse than Noct being serious and understanding; it feels like it's angry, somehow, as if the air itself is turning to ice and fire, and doesn't know which to pick. Noct hasn't pulled away, though; he will, though, Prompto's sure of it, just as soon as the words sink in. But the air settles, and then he feels Noct's hand in his hair, and he thinks it's meant to be comforting, because patting someone's head is what you do when you're being nice to them, but instead... it feels the same, and it's not Noct anymore, and he can't move. Suddenly, he's fifteen and he feels that prickling on his neck, the one that says he's being watched and it's not safe, and he's turning to see the King waiting for Noct instead of Ignis. He's seventeen, and he only sees the King in passing, but he feels dirty after, like he'd been stripped and seen through; he can't shower enough to get rid of the feeling he's being evaluated. He's nineteen and he can't breathe because they're talking about sending Noct away, and every time Noct mentions his dad there's that uncomfortable feeling that it's his fault, that he'd failed somehow.

He's everything at once, and then Noct is telling him to breathe. 

He can't, not until Noct sighs and pulls his hand away, only to use it to push himself off the ground and settle on Prompto's lap. 

"Breathe," Noct says, and it's then, being under Noct and able to look up into dark, angry eyes, that he can do what he's told. It comes out ragged, and he ends up gulping, but Noct only waits.

It's weird, but having Noct's weight on him helps just as much; it's a solid thing that anchors him down, so he can't get lost in the memories, the images. He can even smell it, though it's tainted by the miasma and daemon blood of Insomnia as it is now. That's what he starts with, when it starts. He tries to stop, even puts a hand over his mouth and then tries to bite his fist, even taking some distraction from the bitter taste of dirt when he does so, but Noct pulls his hand away, and holds his wrists down in his lap. He leans in close, too, so their foreheads are touching (they haven't been close like this since before, not even in the tent), so when Prompto's voice cracks and he can only whisper through the tears, he knows Noct can still hear him.

 

It's like he's there again, he's twenty and he's been allowed to go with Noct, and he's done the self-defence training and he knows more about guns than he ever did about chemistry, and he's just finishing up, going through his drills again because when he does he actually feels good about himself, like he's going to be useful, like he's strong, and he gets that feeling, the prickling, the uncertainty, and he turns. The gun is gone from his hand in an instant, because he let his concentration falter, because he was scared, something. 

"I hear you completed your training," the King says, and Prompto's not sure why he feels so uneasy, until the King keeps talking. "That won't be enough, I'm afraid." And then the King is right there, and Prompto can taste the magic in the air around him, smell something sweet and sickly, and the rest of the room dims as there's a rushing in his ears. 

 

This part has always been a blur, even when he's tried to remember it; everything from the King saying he has to come if Prompto wants to accompany his son, to the feeling of a penis in his mouth, how it hurt his jaw to keep it open so long, the sting of being slapped when he relaxed just for an instant, the hard floor feeling ever colder on his knees, the fear of being stripped completely and found out... it's all been short, clear images that he could never put in order, but sometimes held him so completely that he couldn't remember if it ever ended. Telling Noct, though, it all comes out in perfect order, coherent and logical, as if it happened to someone else. There are things he never remembered that he hears himself say, and it's almost like they happen again; he feels the ghost of a hand pulling his hair, nails on his back, and then remembers how wet the floor was when he was turned over, how hard it was to stay still when each thrust pushed him forward. He remembers how the King laughed when he reached around and found him soft, and announced that he'd passed, and he could collect his uniform as scheduled. 

 

He remembers how he pulled himself together and told himself it was for Noct and nobody could ever know, and how grateful he felt that his wristband had never been touched. 

 

"He was too busy for me that day because he was hurting you."

Noct says it so casually that Prompto almost misses the venom beneath it, the same kind of hatred he'd seen in the keep, only briefly. There's a moment, an instant really, where he feels like he should be scared, but it's cut off by a kiss; Noct only gently touching his lips and then pulling away. The kiss says the anger isn't for him, it's because of him. It says things words can't, and Prompto doesn't stop Noct either, when he leans back in. The kissing is something Prompto's never had before, and he thinks he might like it, being so close to Noct that the warmth he feels isn't just his own, the air being a bit thicker because there's two of them breathing out into the same space. Touching because he's wanted, not to pass some test or fake being brave... he can imagine, someday, feeling warm inside again. 

"Will you let me?" Noct says, in between touching, between tasting Prompto's skin and breathing the air back into Prompto's lungs with each new kiss.

Prompto goes still, cold and hot almost at the same time, and his mind goes blank, and he's there again and it's like it's happening far away, and he doesn't know, but Noct is waiting, still touching, but waiting.

 _I can say no_ , Prompto thinks, remembering how the King had pushed his head forward and said if he did he wouldn't see Noct again, he would die in the city like everyone else, how that wasn't a real choice.

"Maybe... maybe after, I'll remember you, not him," he says, his voice sounding far away, as if somehow muted by the overwhelming taste of salt the thought of it recalled.

 

It was the same, but not; Noct didn't ask anything of him. There was no shoving, no being pulled or forced, and Prompto didn't even have to move. Noct just shuffled forward and braced himself on the wall, first with one hand and then both, once he'd opened his fly and pulled it out, already hard. _I did that_ he thinks, the thought both nonsensical and perfectly normal, and he's torn between remembering that he's done that before, and that it's Noct, and then he's touching it, comparing it, and awed that Noct is letting him go slow.

He still tastes salt, and it's still because he's crying, but he doesn't choke, this time; he holds onto Noct's waist and he's careful with his teeth, and when Noct takes over, it's only short, a few harder thrusts and it's done. Noct slides down, looking for all the world as boneless as he is when he's half-awake in the morning and unwilling to ever get up, and kisses Prompto again until the taste is gone.

 

"You will," says Noct.

 

That's when the door smashes in, a dagger flying across the room as Ignis lands on his back, a goblin on top of him. "To be continued," Noct says, catching the dagger before it hits them, and quickly moving to join the fight.

 

It never happens, though. But when the sun comes back and Prompto goes home, remembering isn't quite so hard; for every flash he has of one King, there's the ghostly touch of another to pull him back, and it's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as an aside to a [kinkmeme prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4113.html?thread=6054929#cmt6054929), but ended up becoming something quite different to what was requested.


End file.
